


your temperature’s too hot for taming

by mthslh



Category: The Americans (TV 2013)
Genre: (not much though), Choking, Internalized Homophobia, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn with a hint of Plot, Under-negotiated Kink, all the kinks are mild it should be palatable, but not in a creepy way?, gay bars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26373727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mthslh/pseuds/mthslh
Summary: Arkady didn’t know why the things Oleg said affected him so.
Relationships: Oleg Burov/Arkady Zotov
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	your temperature’s too hot for taming

**Author's Note:**

> somewhere within seasons 3 and 4.  
> title from spanish harlem incident by the byrds (yes, specifically byrds, not dylan.)

Arkady wasn’t sure why it was doing things for him.

His sex life was dry anyway– the price one paid for this job, he supposed. He had a system: go into a bar, try to see if the Americans were on him, get it on with a man in the bathroom, take a girl home to avoid suspicion and kick her out all before two in the morning. It was disgusting, and he felt ashamed, but it was easier here than in Russia, anyway.

Getting blown in a men’s toilet wasn’t exactly an opportune time to explore your kinks, and neither was sending a woman home before she even got her bra off.

It was a straightforward situation. Oleg had always been vague in his reports, but now with the new project, they needed specificity. Oleg wasn’t used to doing thorough jobs, though, and he wouldn’t let it go without having the final say.

In this case, the final say was a sarcastic “yes, Sir,” a snide jab at Arkady’s tendency to treat him like a trainee who needed constant directions. Arkady knew he was tough on the boy, but one could never be too careful.

He had to admit he had thought of Oleg that way before, in an abstract kind of way. Who wouldn’t? He was tall, rich, square-jawed; shaped like a man on a propaganda poster. Never a specific fantasy, though, always a vague daydream.

“Yes, sir.” It ran through his head over and over when it happened, and after the fact, too. Blood rushed to his head, and he could feel himself blush. It wasn’t the sort of thing that was said in the Rezidentura— always just Arkady Ivanovich, not “sir.”

“Alright, get back to work.” God, what an obvious thing to say. A good Rezident would reprimand Oleg, brand him as a troublemaker, a liability, and remove him from important operations.

Arkady wasn’t convinced he wanted to be a good Rezident anymore.

It was embarrassing, to be frank, seeing Oleg smirk and saunter out of the room. Arkady had let him win this one, and they both knew it. Oleg was a smart kid— could he see through Arkady? He felt his cheeks burn, and hoped this was the end of it, hoped he could bury this revelation and never think of it again.

No such luck.

His brain refused to shut up about it. He replayed the moment over and over in his head in bed that night, trying to get to sleep. Was it an Oleg thing or a kind of power trip for him? Did it come from some childhood trauma he'd put away in his mind? Did he even find Oleg attractive, or was he pent-up and sexually frustrated and willing to get off on anything ? He almost hoped it was the latter, and he was just desperate, but he knew it wasn't true.

He tried to empty his mind and sleep, but his mind kept drifting to Oleg.

It wasn’t— He wasn’t childlike, just... obnoxious, on occasion. Obviously , he was tall and strong, with a deep voice and a sharp tongue. He was so damn smart, too, so much that it made Arkady feel self-conscious.

Right, so it was a superiority complex. At least that’s something he could admit. If he trusted anyone enough, not that he ever would or could, he could say he got jealous easily. He’d take whatever this was to the grave.

He tossed and turned until the early morning, having hardly slept by sunrise.

  
Arkady walked into work the next day ready to pretend nothing had ever happened, but unfortunately, Oleg had other plans.

Not an hour had passed before he needed to deliver a new stack of papers to Oleg. He spent a full minute at his desk trying to gather his courage, convincing himself that Oleg never even noticed the way he’d acted.

No such luck.

”Here’s another stack to go through, Oleg Igorevich, I trust the report on these will be completed thoroughly.” He held his breath while putting the folder on the desk, praying Oleg would just roll his eyes, open the folder, and get to work.

”Of course, Sir,” Oleg said, as seriously as possible, big puppy eyes on full display.

God, Arkady felt like he was dying. Oleg couldn’t leave anything be, hadn’t the decency to shut up and let him lick his wounds. It couldn’t possibly be a cultural difference, something only an upper-class boy would do, considering nobody else Oleg had interacted with was called “sir.” No, just Arkady. Oh, how lucky he was.

He managed to do nothing but lift an eyebrow and walk back to his office, but when he sat down at his desk, his hands were shaking. Not even noon, and he was pouring himself a drink.

He was going to go out that night, damn the FBI. He’d sneak out, take his car to a store a block away from a queer bar, wear a thick scarf even though it was 40 degrees out— he felt ridiculous about it, but he didn’t care if the FBI men or the KGB big shots or God himself saw him anymore. He needed to get out and take his mind off of Oleg.

He went inside and sat down, a wave of discomfort washing over him. It was meant to be easy, a quick distraction, but he felt like an impostor. Like a predator.

Arkady ordered a whiskey and downed it in a few sips. He was afraid he looked as out-of-place as he felt, wearing blue jeans and a leather jacket and his thick blue scarf. He shifted in the barstool as he was almost hit by the drunk man next to him telling an animated story to his partner.

Maybe he shouldn't have come.

As he gracefully dodged another waving arm (the man appeared to be re-enacting an entire movie he'd seen,) a hand brushed his back. Arkady jumped, startled, as the man sat down next to him.

Oleg Burov.

  
Oleg was dressed down, too, but he looked more like he belonged, in tighter jeans than Arkady would ever dare to wear and a t-shirt with some musician he didn't recognize . He supposed it made sense that Oleg's fascination with American fashion and culture extended to casual occasions, but it was unusual to see anyone who worked with him in anything but businesswear.

What the hell was Oleg doing here? They wouldn't send someone like him to investigate Arkady, not with his status at the Rezidentura . But he wasn't the type to frequent this sort of place... was he?

The U.S. government couldn't keep track of everyone, and even though Oleg was involved with Beeman, it was unlikely he needed to take the same precautions as Arkady. And honestly, with a personality like that, Arkady was surprised he didn't figure it out sooner, even with Nina's situation. Besides, a minister's son was allowed this sort of indulgence, not like Arkady, whose father was a Jewish laborer.

Arkady clutched his empty glass, willing his hands to stay still.

"It's funny you're here," Oleg said, voice low and in his careful English, "I was just thinking of you."

Arkady raised his eyebrows silently, and Oleg grinned, blinking his left eye.

"Why wouldn't I be here? You don't know me, Oleg."

"No. Not as well as I'd like to."

A pause hung heavy in the air.

"Arkady, is there something you want from me? Because if you're just going to sit here and stare at the glass, I'll find someone else to talk to."

Arkady stood up, heart racing. "Well, you're welcome to come with me." He wrapped his scarf around his face and stood up, trying to appear confident as he walked towards the front door.

"Yes, sir," Oleg grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Arkady ducked his head and kept going.

Oleg wouldn't stop touching him. He was trying to drive, and he didn't appreciate it, knots forming in his stomach every time Oleg's hands skittered across his forearm or his thigh. Finally, when Oleg reached out once more, Arkady grabbed his hand harder than he should have and held it tight.

"Be patient," he said, the need for English gone.

A smile spread across Oleg's face. "Or what?"

If this was the game he wanted to play, Arkady was more than happy to oblige. "Or you'll go home without getting fucked, dear, alright?"

"Who said you were going to do the fucking?"

The car skidded to a halt on the deserted road, and Arkady let go of his hand to grip the steering wheel. "I did, Oleg. What I say goes, understand?" He was taking a risk here, but he wasn't the one who'd put the idea in Oleg's head- quite the opposite, actually.

"Yes, yes, sorry." He seemed thrilled, actually, not sorry at all.

"Sorry what?"

"Sorry, sir."

Arkady's heart skipped a beat, but he looked back at the road, trying to seem sure of himself, and drove home.

They arrived at Arkady’s place, an inconspicuous little rowhome right off of a busy street. He almost felt ridiculous letting Oleg into his home. It was oddly personal to him, the thick green drapes and the beige walls and the old picture of his parents on the shelf. He hardly spent time there, never even bothering to change half the furniture that came with the house, but it felt different, more vulnerable than the jewel-toned Rezidentura walls.

(The Rezidentura may as well have been his home, with the amount of time he spent there, and although he didn’t get to choose the decor there, either, it felt more like home than here. Nothing in Washington compared to his real home, though, his current house being twice the size of the room in which he and his brother grew up.)

Of course, he supposed, wanting to be dominant in bed ought to have been a deeper secret than what color bedspread he had.

Oleg put his hands in his pockets and looked around, pressing his lips together. “Green curtains and orange tile?”

Arkady gave him a pointed look. “If you hate the decor so much, go sleep in your own bed.” He took off his jacket and went to his bedroom to hang it up, heart caught in his throat. As he’d hoped, Oleg followed behind him like a lost puppy, all talk with no real intent to leave.

Arkady breathed a sigh through gritted teeth, preparing for what was to come.

Sure, he was Oleg's superior, but he didn't have any power over him. Oleg could spin this story however he wanted, get Arkady out just like how Vasili disappeared before him. His job made him disposable by design: he was no scientist, and his father was no minister.

But, he reassured himself, Oleg seemed to like him just fine, and he held no secrets outside of his sexual preferences. If the KGB wanted him out, they'd ship him home and shoot him, not get their tech spy to seduce him beforehand, or so he hoped.

He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs, rolled them up, and turned around.

Oleg was bouncing on the balls of his feet, arms behind his back, looking at Arkady. He still had a hint of a smile on his face, but he was also fidgeting like he was nervous.

"You're okay? You really can leave, if you don't want to be here."

He huffed a laugh through his nose. "Never been better."

Arkady smiled- something he didn't do often- and put his hands on Oleg's broad shoulders, pushing him gently down to sit on the bed. Towering over Oleg for once, rather than the other way around, he bent down and pressed a chaste, experimental kiss to his lips. Oleg's hands immediately shot up to clasp Arkady's face, soft hands tracing his crow's feet. Arkady spent a second relishing in the soft touch, and then pulled back, putting on a stern look.

"Hands down."

"Sorry, sir."

"Belt off. Shirt, too."

Oleg obliged. He was so eager to please, nothing like he was in the office. He quickly undid his belt and got his shirt off, sitting back after he was finished. Arkady splayed his hands across Oleg's chest, and slid down to his knees.

“Oh,” Oleg whined as Arkady unbuttoned his jeans and slid down his boxers, freeing his half-hard cock.

Arkady skirted his fingers up Oleg’s thighs, feather-soft, and then dug his fingernails lightly into his inner leg . He breathed out, light and slow, making Oleg’s cock twitch.

He was well-versed in sucking cock, but for whatever reason, he was anxious this time.

He allowed himself a glance up. Oleg was leaning back onto his hands, eyes closed and breath heavy, nose pointed towards the ceiling.

"Eyes on me, dear."

"Yes, sir." His eyes fluttered open, and he positioned himself so he could watch Arkady.

Arkady sucked in a sharp breath, searching Oleg's big brown eyes, and then turned his attention back to his hard dick.

Arkady tentatively put his mouth on Oleg. He flicked his tongue over his head, only taking Oleg halfway in his mouth and using his hands at the base of his cock. He worked at this for a minute, and then, looking into Oleg's eyes, took his hand off and swallowed him to the root. Oleg groaned, trying to suppress the sound behind gritted teeth.

"Don't be shy, Oleg, let me hear you."

He went back to working at his cock with his mouth and hands, Oleg's whimpers slowly growing into loud, breathy gasps. Arkady glanced back up, making sure his eyes were still open.

Oleg's breath caught. "Arkady- fuck, sir, I want..."

Arkady pulled off at once, wiping spit off of his own mouth. "You want what? Tell me, Oleg."

"I want you to fuck me. There's a condom in my pocket," he pointed vaguely at his jeans on the floor, breath heavy, "God, Arkady..."

Arkady chose to ignore the way his name was used (because honestly, this was hotter than  sir ever could be, as long as he got to stay in charge) and instead retrieved lube from the bedside drawer and the condom from Oleg's pocket, taking his time.

"Lay down on your back."

Oleg obliged immediately, kicking his pants away from his ankles and stretching his long legs out on Arkady's bed. Arkady tossed the lube and condom next to Oleg, and then peeled his socks off and removed his jeans & underwear. Oleg's breathing evened out, slow and steady, and Arkady got on the bed, kneeling over Oleg's body. He unbuttoned his shirt as slowly as he could as Oleg stared at him, eyes wide and hungry. He threw it on the floor and bent down to kiss Oleg once more, deep and sweet.

He rolled the condom over his already-hard cock and poured out a palmful of lube. He teased Oleg's hole with one finger, eliciting a soft gasp, and slid it in easily, soon joining it with a second. Oleg's body tensed and then softened slowly, and Arkady eased in a third finger.

Finally, he pulled out, Oleg groaning at the loss of his touch. He coated his own cock with the lube, and Oleg pulled his legs up in anticipation. Arkady slipped into Oleg, and once he bottomed out, rolled his hips at a tortuously slow pace.

"God, Arkady, I need," Oleg gasped, "I need more."

"Beg for me."

"I'm not going to beg.”

Arkady stopped in his tracks immediately. "What's that?"

Oleg let out a low whine. "Can't you just-“

"I can, but I won't." His challenge ignored, he began fucking Oleg again, his pace even easier than before.

"Fine, oh, please Arkady, please sir, I want more, please..." Oleg was babbling, words pouring out of his mouth like honey.

"Tell me what you want." Arkady went faster, but his thrusts were still drawn out.

Oleg took a deep breath and snapped his eyes open. "I want you to break me in two, is that enough for you?"

Arkady smiled, pulling out slowly, and then slammed his body into Oleg, his rhythm finally picking up . He gripped Oleg's shoulders, watching the man underneath him gasp for air. A minute passed, and Arkady slowed down once more, causing Oleg to babble nonsensically.

"Oh, please, don't slow down, don't stop, Arkady..." Pleading, he drew out the name on his tongue, Ar- _ kah _ -dy, voice desperate. Arkady relented once more, pressing Oleg into the mattress.

  
As time passed, Oleg's sighs and gasps became low, drawn-out moans, Arkady breathing heavier with him.

"Choke me, _please_ , Arkady..." Oleg was getting close, tightening around Arkady's cock.

"You want me- what?"

"Oh, don't be so- I don't want to die, Arkady, just put your thumb here and press, just, God, please..." He trailed off into a groan.

Despite his fear of hurting Oleg, Arkady gave in, pressing as gently as possible on Oleg's neck, then slightly harder when Oleg keened up into his hand. Oleg's breath grew labored and he came with a long cry, Arkady following soon after, and went limp on the bed, exhausted.

Arkady collapsed next to him, and mustered up the energy to get his condom off, dropping it in the trashcan, and walked to the bathroom to get a washcloth. He wiped himself off, rinsed it out, and went back to the bedroom to clean the come off of Oleg's stomach.

Oleg's eyes flew open, wet eyelashes fanning against his reddened skin. "I ought to leave." He sat up, wincing, bright red marks on his shoulders. Arkady almost felt sorry, seeing the marks of his own fingernails, but the sight was also oddly thrilling.

"It's-" Arkady glanced at the clock- "2 o'clock. I can drive you home or call a taxi if you want to take the risk, or I can just drive you into work tomorrow."

Oleg breathed out through his nose, blinking one eye after the other, contemplating the offer. "If it's too much trouble..."

Arkady shook his head, turning out the light on his nightstand, leaving only a dim glow from the hallway. He was too tired to get up and turn that one out too, and besides, he admired the soft yellow glow on Oleg's sharp features. "Never any trouble."

Oleg moved towards the headboard, allowing Arkady to turn down the covers and pull the sheets over Oleg, then climb in himself. Hesitant, Oleg wrapped warm arms around Arkady's waist, and he responded in turn, leg thrown over Oleg's limber body.. Oleg's breath evened out, his mind and body fully sated, and his soft snore and dull heartbeat lulled Arkady to sleep with his head on his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> well, i started this a few days ago, but i started season 6 last night and their scene together gave me a burst of energy to finish it.
> 
> i accidentally gave arkady a hell of a backstory, but i do love to project onto middle-aged men. i don’t know if ivan zotov would have been Jewish, but lev gorn is from a russian Jewish family, and that one radio scene implies he’s Jewish. it isn’t really important, but it’s my thought process.
> 
> i AGONIZED over his furniture choices, but he seems like a jewel tone sorta guy, like igor burov.
> 
> i love comments! if you enjoyed the story, i’d really appreciate one!


End file.
